by K. A. M'Lady
“Aye, milord,” he replied looking up from his task.
“Come. I have a task for you.” Leaning down from Fallon’s side, he advised Sedrick of the duties that lay before him. “And do not forget, my young friend,” he told him, “Pasquel is not to be trusted for anything. Keep him away from the dungeon. The only person I want having contact with Gabriella until I return is Rosalynn. She has already been advised that she is not to let Gabriella out until I return and am able to sort this business out on the death of the servant girl. Am I understood?”
“Aye, milord.”
“Good. John will remain on guard of the keep, and Smedely is around somewhere if you need anything else.”
Sedrick nodded his understanding and Damon turned Fallon toward the bailey walls. He didn’t know how long he would be gone, but he did not have the time right now for Gabriella, and he knew that when he returned she would be very angry with him for having placed her in the dungeon. He would have to deal with her wrath at a later time.
Riding across the bridge, he kicked Fallon into a full gallop and gave the horse his head as it led him away from one mystery to another—the rebels. He knew without a doubt that this time, there would be no escaping him or the justice of his sword.
* * * * * *
Gabriella plopped herself down on the straw cot in the dungeon room she had stayed in as a guest before. Damn him! How the hell could he do this to me? He knows I could never hurt someone, let alone kill them. Especially that poor girl, Anne. If it is anyone’s murder he should be worried about, it should be his own. For I swear, if he survives those damn rebels, I’m going to kill him myself when I see him. Gabriella swore vehemently as she stood and started pacing the small cell. The main guard was the same one who had been on duty during her last stay in the dungeon and she knew he would provide her no means of escape.
Her situation appeared hopeless. Again. Why is the cosmos against me? What have I ever done wrong? There was no point to asking these questions. Her current life had become a mystery and she had no idea of the outcome.
With a deep sigh of anguish, she sat back down on the cot and waited. She had no idea how long Damon would be, but she had a very bad feeling that it would be some time.
As the light began to fade away from the small opening of window at the top of the cell, she knew that the castle would be preparing for the evening meal. She was hungry from not having eaten all day, what with her stomach giving her grief this morning and then finding Anne dead in the storeroom. She wondered if she had already been forgotten. Wondered if Rosalynn thought that she may have killed the poor girl and that was why even she had not brought her food, or a blanket, or even her wise advice.
Watching the sun set beyond the window as night fell around the castle, she heard the guard lighting a sconce in the wall outside her cell.
“Your meal has arrived,” he grunted, moving out of the way to reveal Rosalynn in the shadow of the flame. She carried a tray laden with food, a pitcher filled to the brim, and an extra blanket thrown over her shoulder. The guard unlocked the cell door and ushered Rosalynn in. “You are not to stay long and are to call me when you are ready to depart. It is his lordship’s orders,” he told Rosalynn as though an explanation was required to the elderly woman.
“As you say,” she replied.
“Oh thank God, Rosalynn,” Gabriella exclaimed, wanting to throw herself into the woman’s arms, but could not due to the tray she carried. “I thought you had forgotten about me. Or worse, that you thought I’d killed that poor girl and hated me. Never wanting to see me again.”
“Silly girl. Of course I do not believe you capable of such a thing, but there is definitely trouble about, and we must stay aware of those around us.”
“So it’s true then? He has gone after the rebels?”
“Aye, but it is what he is, my dear. And what he must do because of it. You cannot change the dragon’s scales nor tame his nature. You must love him in spite of his smoke and fire.”
“I do love him, Rosalynn, and that is what scares me the most,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest, turning to stare out the window.
Rosalynn grunted a reply and placed the tray on the cot, setting the blanket at its end. She stared at Gabriella’s squared back for several silent moments before saying, “Come, dear, sit and eat. You will need your strength for what is ahead.”
“What is ahead, Rosalynn? Do you truly see the future? Can you tell me where it leads?” she asked sitting on the cot’s edge and grabbing a piece of bread.
“At times I see a great many things in the circle of the water. The gods even choose to speak to me when they are able. But what they show me is not always certain. It is possibilities of what may come to pass.”
“Do you know what will come of me? Will I ever see my home again?” A sad weariness overcame her.
“That choice will be up to you, my dear,” Rosalynn told her, reaching to take her hand into the warmth of her work-worn fingers. “You will see your opportunities before you. It is then that you must decide what the best choice is.”
“Will I choose correctly?” Worry laced her voice.
“Only time will tell, milady. Only time will tell.”
As Rosalynn left the cell, she swore she would return in the morning with clean water to bathe with and a small repast to break her fast.
Gabriella sat back on the cot with her back against the wall. She drew her legs up under her and wrapped her arms around them as she thought about what Rosalynn had said. She’d spent half the night thinking of her choices if given the opportunity. Would she stay or would she choose to leave this place? To leave Damon, the one person in the world that she loved more than anything.
As she lay down to sleep, her last thoughts were of him. His gruff voice whispering to her softly of his desire. The way his silver eyes flashed when he looked at her with want. The way his lips tasted when they kissed. Spreading the extra blanket over her, she closed her eyes and dreamed of him beside her, holding her close through the night.
Dawn seemed to come quickly, and Gabriella stirred beneath the blankets. Her head pounded and her stomach churned with the slightest of movements. Sitting up quickly, she threw the blankets off her and reached for the chamber pot, once again losing the entire contents of her evening meal.
Rosalynn found her hunched over the chamber pot as she entered the cell. She glared at the guard, then scolded, “Why did you not come get me if you knew she was sick?”
“I did not know, milady. I swear to you.”
Rosalynn sidled past him to the heap that was Gabriella hunched over on the floor.
“My poor dear,” she said, taking a cloth and wetting it, wiping Gabriella’s forehead. “I am here now, I’ll take care of you.”
Gabriella knew she must look as awful as she felt. Her head swam and her stomach turned like too many twists in a roller coaster. Her thoughts made her sick again.
When she finally finished, Rosalynn laid her back on the cot and covered her with a blanket. “Rest now, milady. I’ll watch over you.”
Gabriella slept off and on throughout the day, never feeling well enough to rise from the bed. By evening, she tried to eat some of the broth that Rosalynn had brought her and small amounts of the bread.
Every morning she would wake sick, unable to keep anything down for any length of time. By the time a week had passed and the morning sickness continued, she knew with certainty that she carried Damon’s child.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Damon and his men had made their plans well and had split their forces as agreed, Sir Richard’s men heading around to the northern side of the forest. There they would enter and spread out in a line, a man’s yell apart. Damon and his men were now slowly entering the darkness of the forest. It was filled with every manner of tree, thick with brush and roots all overgrowing and tangling together in a mass of knots. He and his men walked the horses slowly so not to get stuck in the thick bracken, so not to make a soun
d.
It seemed there was a presence in the forest as a hush fell all around them. The earth seemed to know that blood would soon flow and men would surely die. The darkness settled around every limb and green-filled shoot, leaving the air pungent with pine, rosemary, hawthorn and any other kind of wild thing that grew within its depths.
The wind swayed the uppermost branches, causing a whisper to stir in the trees around them. The Black Forest had been given its name for this reason; darkness seemed to consume everything within its grasp.
Most who entered did not return, the shadow so thick it seemingly devoured them whole, leaving their bones to rot in the moist, dark soil. Those few that were lucky enough to find their way out were usually left addled and ranting. Speaking of spirits and demons prowling the dark. Very few who hunted here went in very far and whatever game they were able to kill was shared with their village, for it was too dangerous to hunt.
Damon and his men searched for what seemed like months rather than days. They would build no fires at night, and slept on the cold ground. They continued on this way for several days, fanning out in what daylight trickled through the thick trees, sleeping at cold campsites by night.
He knew that Sir Richard and his men did the same, and that tomorrow they would meet up in the clearing just beyond the first creek bed. If no rebels were found, they would venture deeper into the forest for another day’s search before doubling back.
Damon knew with certainty that they, too, would not venture much further into the permeating darkness of the Black Forest. The rebels seemed to know this area, since they had hidden themselves so well. But Damon knew that this game was finally at its end. They would hide no more and he and his men would be ready for them.
“The earth grows quiet, my friend,” Tanak told him as they stopped for the night. They were mere yards from the creek, and could hear its light rolling gurgles above the stillness of the woods around them. A small glint of moon peaked between the uppermost branches of the trees before hiding again in the thin veil of clouds that scattered past it.
“Aye, my friend. The earth quiets and the creatures know. It will not be long now.”
“You advised Sedrick of his duties before we left?” Tanak asked.
“Aye and the lad filled me in on your direction from the night before. He also advised of Pasquel’s behavior. Creeping into the keep in the darkness. It makes me wonder of his involvement in the servant’s death.”
“Sedrick will keep an eye on your wretched cousin, my friend. Have no worries. That witch of yours will guard your lady well.”
“I do not know which point to argue most with you, my friend,” he grunted shaking his head.
“Which point is it that you do not believe? That your caretaker and mother hen is a witch, or that the lovely Gabriella is your lady?”
Damon pondered Tanak’s words as he searched the woods around them. He thought of Gabriella and how he had left her. Aye, she was going to be mighty furious with him when he returned. But once he was able to get to the bottom of the servant girl’s death, she would take him into the warmth of her body and forgive him. He had no doubts of that.
At the time however, there was no recourse for him but to tuck her safely away until he returned. She had been found, weapon in hand. The way his people would see it, she was guilty until proven innocent. And, in order for her to be set free, he would have to make sure he found the person responsible.
Nearing the creek, Damon drew a halt to their search. The woods had grown more still with the rising of the moon seen just beyond the creek bed to the other side of the open field. The horses stamped almost nervously as the riders tried to dismount. And then, all hell broke loose.
Rebels jumped from tree limbs, their battle cries echoing through the darkness, shaking the earth around them like a giant quake. Damon and his men had little time to draw their weapons. He quickly assessed the situation. Rather than waiting for the obvious, for the fight to occur at dawn as they entered the clearing, they struck in the full darkness of night. Damon and his men, separated from the strength and numbers of Sir Richard and his men as they were, would have a difficult fight ahead.
There were men everywhere. The darkness of their clothes helped to blend them into the forest and the night. They managed slash and run tactics, striking and retreating. Only to strike again. As Damon and his men got their sense of the situation, they stood together, backs to each other, ready and waiting for the next onslaught.
It came in mere seconds. The rebels outnumbered Damon’s men three to one. They had banded together quite well and were garrulous in their attack, fighting as though Hell had opened its gates and they were its escorts.
Damon and Tanak stood side by side, ready for the next rush. Damon caught sight of the large vile creature that had challenged him just outside the forest when he had first brought Gabriella to Blackmoor.
“So Dragon,” the warrior spat. “We finally meet again,” he said, raising his ax for battle.
“Aye,” Damon growled. “Come, rebel. ‘Tis time to meet your end.”
The man barked a short laugh and charged Damon in a full-out run.
Damon braced his legs and steadied his sword, ready for the opportunity to end this particular rebel’s life. The first blow was swift and hard as Damon deflected the ax and spun, ready for his own thrust. But the rebel had back tracked just out of his reach. “Is that all you have, you bastard?” Damon swore.
The rebel scowled and spit at the ground, wiping his grimy face with the back of his sleeve. “We will see who is left standing at the end of this match, Dragon.”
His next charge was more like the thunderous attack of a giant. He swung his ax in huge arcs, returning each thrust and parry that Damon could give. “While you fight, great Dragon, I hope your keep is secure and all your treasures locked up safe.” He made a swing for his head.
Sweat beaded on each of them from the effort of each thrust and parry, slashing each other with all of their strength and will. Damon overstepped his last swing and received a glancing blow to his side. It was not fatal, but blood pooled quickly at his side.
The great oaf of a rebel grunted a laugh and swung his ax over his head. “You cannot best me, Dragon,” he told Damon. “I am too big and too quick. Too much of a warrior for you to handle.”
He was goading Damon, and he knew it. Trying not to think of his statement of protecting his treasure, Damon lunged for him. Too sure of himself and his own victory, the rebel didn’t block quick enough and Damon’s sword slashed down his chest from collarbone to gullet.
The rebel stood frozen, ax raised above his head as though he would fell Damon with one last strike. His shirt filled with blood, seeping through the material like a fall of water over a small barrier of rocks. He turned ashen, and his ax fell from his fingers to the ground in a hollow thump.
He fell to his knees, gripping his chest. “You may have won this battle,” he told Damon, blood gurgling from his lips. “But you do not know of the true battle that wages, nor the victors of that war. For make no mistakes, ‘tis personal. And all that is yours will be taken.” He fell to the ground and died.
Damon looked around him. The forest had returned to silence for but a moment more before the thunder of horses came crashing through the forest.
“Bloody hell,” Sir Richard exclaimed, jumping from his horse to reach Damon’s side.
“Where the hell were you, my friend, when these bastards chose to attack?” Damon accused. He grabbed his side, blood seeping between his fingers.
“On a wild goose chase of a small band of these bastards,” Richard replied, kicking the dead rebel who now lay at Damon’s feet. “It seems their ploy to keep us separated worked rather well.” He ran a hand through his hair.
Damon noticed that Richard’s sword was smeared with blood, as were his hands. His tunic was splashed quite liberally. “How many did you kill?”
“We killed about a dozen. A handful escaped into the forest, bu
t not enough to make any difference.”
Damon looked at Sir Richard rather intently, his eyes boring into him, wondering if what he said were true. Aye, there was much treachery about, and it would not be the first if a warrior traded sides to better their own station. What would Sir Richard gain by killing me? The answer was far too easy to not have been thought of before. Everything. The keep, the land, the title and Gabriella. Damon stared hard at Richard.
“What is it that you think kept me, my friend?” Sir Richard asked. “Have I always not covered your flank?”
“Aye,” Damon said slowly, then clapped him on the shoulder, shaking off the thoughts of treachery. “It appears all this warring is taking its toll on me. ‘Tis time for home, hot meals and soft beds,” he told Richard and all the men that had remained alive as they gathered in the now-bloodied forest. “Come, my friends. Let us be rid of these damn rebels and head for home.”
A cheer went up among the men. Those who were wounded had their needs seen to and the dead were buried. They camped upstream, away from the area of fighting so that fresh, clean water from the small stream could be used for cooking and the cleansing of wounds. Fires were started for the first time in nights, and food was caught for their meals.
Damon, Tanak and Sir Richard sat around their fire, discussing the events that had led up to this final battle.
“It would seem, my friend,” Tanak said to Damon, “that the biggest, meanest warrior chose you for this one.”
“Aye, a score to settle with that one,” Damon replied.
“What score?” questioned Sir Richard.
“We had met before, on our way back to Blackmoor. Remember, I had told you this tale. It was he who had tried to abduct Gabriella in the forest when we had made a short stop. It was he and his men who attacked us and shot her in the back when she tried to warn us. And it was he who had been leading these men all over the countryside, burning villages and killing all in his path.”